


Love's Not Time's Fool Part I Ch.4

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:46:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"These are the times that try men's souls."<br/>One year post 513</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love's Not Time's Fool Part I Ch.4

 

 

Justin’s POV:  
  
      With so many last minute details before tomorrow’s opening, I was running late, the kind of running late to elicit a _sorry_ even from those who had nothing to do with it. Perfect.  
  
      To make matters worse, I couldn’t come up with an excuse, a believable one that wouldn’t give credence to whispered opinions about my intermittent odd behavior. The truth was I had lost track of time, too wrapped up in the daydreams floating around my head. Because I’ve been empty for so long. They make life more tolerable. I don’t spend as much time there as I used to, but they give me the freedom to hope for hope. And I need that.  
  
      Negotiating lunch hour madness when you’re in a hurry is no mean feat. In addition to weaving in and out among people who have no fucking clue how to walk, I had to wait for every light to cross the street. On my last corner, I inhaled perfume and after-shave from those near me and the aroma of seasoned meat grilling on a skewer. Hungry customers wolfed down freshly made gyros from the street vendor, but I didn’t have time for such a luxury. Because I was fucking late.  
  
      Mumbling between grumbles, I pushed the gallery door open in disgust and spied a frazzled Sofia coming out of the bathroom, brushing rogue wisps of glossy black hair into her immaculate chignon. If Brian were straight and they were a couple, Brad and Angelina would have to crawl into a cave. Equally stunning in Chanel silk or trendy jeans, she manages the day-to-day operations with a business acumen that belies her striking looks. This place would be a mess without her, regardless of her PhD in art history and expert eye.  
  
      Considering its size and scope, the art community in New York is remarkably small. Everyone knows someone who knows someone else. We unknowingly ran in the same circles and introduced by mutual acquaintances, immediately hit it off. Over the past year, she’s morphed from a professional colleague into a friend and has been running herself ragged for my show.  
  
      She caught my eye and after a quick detour to her desk, joined me in the center of the gallery. “Nice of you to show up, Mr. Taylor.”  
  
      Her pseudo sarcasm left me unfazed. “Shut it, your highness. I’m in a lousy mood and won’t hesitate to unleash my wrath upon your royal body.” I haven’t been able to figure out her European lineage, other than she’s a descendent of some long ago royalty. With anyone else, my snide remark might have backfired, but Sofia could dish it out as well.  
  
     “Ohhh, promises, promises! Tell you what, all I ask is that you remember me when you’re rich and famous and everybody knows your name.”  
  
     “Isn’t that a bar and TV show, _Cheers_? Besides, with your trust money, you could buy ten galleries if you wanted.” My eyes swept around the empty space. The time had arrived to hang the canvasses and adjust the lighting. “So, are we ready to do this?”  
  
      She grinned as she shed her outrageously expensive jacket in preparation for the grunt work. “I’m always ready to do this.”  
  
      I’d already tuned her out, processing the first of what would hopefully be more shows while struggling to make sense of the weird messages my brain was sending to my heart.  
  
_“I want you to always remember this...”_  
  
     “Justin?”  
  
     “Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just had one of those crazy moments.” I let out a whoosh of air. “Okay, let’s haul everything from the back, lean them against the walls, and go from there.”  
  
      I stopped on the way to the storage room. “The caterer and flowers are all set, right?” When I didn’t get an answer, I looked back to see her standing with arms crossed in front of her chest.  
  
      Studying me with a chilly frost, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, the gesture making her appear more regal than usual. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” she said, piercing me with a laser-like glare reminiscent of Debbie. “My name is Sofia, the person in charge of every fucking last detail—in case you’ve forgotten.”  
  
      I squirmed under the intensity. She was right. She had gone out of her way to make sure this would not be just another art show, sending invitations to gallery owners, potential buyers, and reputable art critics.  
  
      I couldn't believe so many had accepted. She wasn’t, saying the owners and prospects were attending out of curiosity, the critics for free food and drink. While there was some truth in the explanation, she neglected to mention her more than impressive credentials from galleries in Milan and Paris also were a contributing factor. People respected her ability to assess an artist’s work without personal opinion interfering.  
  
      My question wasn’t meant to second-guess. I could only imagine her nerves were as frayed as mine. I hurried over to smooth things over with a bribe. “Pizza for lunch?”  
  
      She raised a perfectly sculpted and very dubious eyebrow. “Is the starving artist buying or is the artist starving?”  
  
    “Definitely the first, a little of the second,” I admitted, hoping she’d take the peace offering. One trait we had in common, in addition to art, was our love of food.  
  
     “Pepperoni and peppers?”  
  
      I breathed a sigh of relief. “Sounds good to me.” I had my hand on the door handle when she called out.  
  
     “Justin!”  
  
      Her urgency stopped me cold. I whirled around and arched an eyebrow of my own. She rushed toward me, Manolo Blahnik’s clicking on the polished floor like bullets, waving a piece of paper in her hand.  
  
     “I’m _so_ sorry! Vivienne took this earlier. I forgot to give it to you.”  
  
      I stared at the cryptic message with my heart beating out of my chest. **_In New York for a business deal. Still don’t keep the fucking phone on? B._**

      My first instinct was to dial his number. Why the fuck hadn’t he called my cell? With my heart pounding out of my chest, I frantically searched my backpack and pulled it out. There were two missed calls from him. Cursing under my breath, it hit me that I hadn’t turned the volume back on from the night before. I punched the familiar numbers with shaky fingers. Not surprisingly, it went to voice mail. I hung up.

[ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/kinfic2/21159744/43179/43179_original.png)

  
      After checking the volume was high and the messages cleared, I put it in my jacket pocket. With heat burning my cheeks, I muttered something like “I’ll go get the pizza” and fled into the welcome anonymity of sidewalk pedestrians.  
  
      It only took one block for the pain and love to crash into me like a tidal wave. I thought I was doing fine. But as I leaned against a street sign, I realized it was a lie. If there had been a huge fight and a clean break, it would have hurt more in the beginning, but we would have had closure. Picking up the pieces would have been easier for us, _me_ , to move on. Instead, he made a unilateral decision, as usual, to fade away and stay away, as if what we had was nothing more than another completed chapter in the book of Brian Kinney. Time to turn the page start a new one. Unless I was in close proximity to another bomb, he’d keep his self-imposed exile, tearing me apart piece by piece, leaving me with unresolved what-ifs and if-onlys.  
  
_“I rage, I melt, I burn...The feeble god has stabbed me to the heart.”_ _©music by G.Handel, text by J.Gay_  
  
      Not wanting to make a spectacle with a public meltdown, I fought the urge to scream and cry, biting my lip hard enough to draw blood. I pulled myself together and charged down the street. Once again, he flipped my world upside down. The man is a godamn menace. He should have warning labels pasted all over him, particularly his dick! I don’t hear from him in months and out of the blue he calls? Granted, it _is_ what I wanted but.... Knowing him, he’ll come up with a lame ass excuse not to show or not show up at all. That’s _his_ modus operandi.  
  
      I picked up the pizza and headed back with the smell of mozzarella cheese, oregano, and tomato sauce teasing my nose. In one of the more mysterious workings of the universe, my stomach didn’t acknowledge the aroma with so much as a gurgle. Despite the fiery ball that made me want to put my fist through a wall, I couldn’t stop a grin from sneaking out. If this were another place and time, the bastard would pretend my lack of interest in food didn’t worry him.   
  
      I love flaunting my 1500 SAT scores in front of him. It pushes his buttons. But in my short life I’ve learned there’s a big difference between book smart and street smart, between people smart and Brian smart _._ I may not be street smart or people smart, but I _am_ book smart, and I like to think I’m Brian smart.  
  
      Fuck him and fuck him again! He may have sold his soul to the devil, but little does he know _I_ hold the copyright. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let _him_ decide we don’t have a future.  
  
      I’m ready to see him. I think.  
  
      Maybe it will clear my mind. I hope.  
  
**Sell your soul to the devil to get out of hell and you’ll burn in the fire.** _©Kin_  
  
                                                                                                     * * *  
Sofia’s POV:  
  
    Although we’ve become friends this past year, Justin’s not forthcoming about his private life. Even if I hadn’t peeked at the message, his body language said more than words ever could. I’ve never seen a person go hot and cold at the same time. His visceral reaction piqued my curiosity.   
  
    I can’t help but wonder what tomorrow will bring. Will I finally get to meet the elusive Brian, the one who swings Justin’s emotions back and forth like a yo-yo? I had a glimpse of him one morning when they were walking toward the gallery. I don’t think anyone, male or female, could do better. Justin doesn’t wear his unhappiness on his sleeve but there’s usually an air of pathos around him. But when I spotted them, he radiated _happy_ and glowed like sunshine.

    My people skills are honed to the nth degree. I’m a good judge of character, a _very_ good judge of character. It’s a trait that’s served me well over the years, and every fiber of my being says that without Brian Kinney, he’s simply going through the motions of living.   
  
    Yes, tomorrow will be very interesting indeed.  


**Continue here:** <http://archiveofourown.org/works/888358>


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